


There's Nothing Like Summer In The City

by fihli



Series: "Hamilton" Cut Scenes [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Gen, confessions™, do not try and put this into actual historical context, drunk ham, ham sleeps in burr's bed, not really ham/burr but maybe if you squint, sober burr, strictly musical-verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 22:19:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6027480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fihli/pseuds/fihli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Burr never meant to invite Hamilton into his house, but, somehow, his political rival ended up sitting on his favorite chair, drinking his wine, and telling him... Well... Everything.</p><p>Somewhere between the events of "Say No To This" and "We Know", Hamilton tells Burr about his affair with Maria Reynolds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's Nothing Like Summer In The City

**Author's Note:**

> This is strictly in the universe of the musical, not meant to be taken into historical context in any way! How the scandal really went down is a wild ride, though, and I still can't believe I read the entire Reynolds Pamphlet. Alex, you scoundrel.

It always happened like this.

_Always_ was a little bit of an overstatement. It had happened like this once.

But still, one would think that once was enough.

Burr peered through the small crack between the curtain and the windowpane, and yes, he was still there. Fidgeting in his slightly rumpled waistcoat, small spots of ink on the cuffs of his white sleeves. Burr really didn’t know why he wore white if he was just going to cover it with ink. Poor choices all around, really.

He watched as Hamilton worried his fingers together and apart, together and apart, and wondered what the man wanted this early in the morning. If it was another god-awful essay writing spree…

Hamilton raised a fist to knock on the door again and Burr exhaled heavily.

_Let’s get this over with._

He opened the door before Hamilton could knock, and for the briefest of seconds he was able to relish the sight of the other man’s wide eyes and shocked expression before--

“Aaron Burr, sir--”

“Alexander,” Burr said quickly, trying to cut in before the omnipresent _sir_ , but somehow Hamilton was able to slip it in. “It’s three in the morning.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“We’ve had this discussion. I have set legal hours. No politics after I close my office for the night.” 

_Not that you’ve ever listened,_ Burr thought, crossing his arms, He refused to open his door any more than he had to. The summer air was muggy and he didn’t want it or Hamilton in his home any more than what was absolutely necessary. 

“This isn’t a legal matter, or a political one,” Hamilton argued, and then almost seemed to… Deflate? It was a word that Burr hadn’t ever needed to apply to Hamilton before. The other man’s shoulders dropped and he let out a quiet sigh. “I just need to talk to someone.”

Burr narrowed his eyes, about to close the door in his face and go back to bed, but then reconsidered. He knew that Hamilton’s family had gone upstate for the summer, and if all Hamilton wanted to do was talk… Meaning all Burr had to do was _listen_. Listening would do no harm to him, and who knew what information was hiding underneath Hamilton’s slightly askew hat?

He knew that Hamilton was fighting with Thomas Jefferson about New York’s financial system. Burr still hadn’t picked a side on that particular argument, maybe this would give him some insight. That had to be what this was about. Hamilton was nothing if fiercely obsessed, some would even say single-minded and consumed, with work. 

Burr opened the door and ushered Hamilton inside.

Before he could get even two steps into Burr’s home, he snatched his hat off of his head and spun back around to face Burr, eyes wide and frantic.

“ _I slept with Maria Reynolds._ ”

“What?” Burr took a step back. “Who?”

Hamilton raked one hand through his untied hair and dropped into Burr’s favorite armchair. He let out another long sigh, like he’d been holding it in for ages. “James Reynolds’ wife.”

Burr took a tentative seat in his second-favorite armchair. “I don’t know who either of those people are.”

“That’s why I came here.”

Burr raised an eyebrow. “To your rival’s house in the middle of the night to tell him about the one time you cheated on your wife?”

Hamilton at least had the decency to look ashamed, biting his lip a little and staring at the floorboards.

“One time?”

Burr’s eyes narrowed. “Alexander. How long has this been going on?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Hamilton glanced up at Burr through the loose pieces of dark hair hanging over his forehead. “All summer.”

“You’ve kept this a secret all summer?” Burr really hated feeling grudging respect for anyone, especially Hamilton, but that in it of itself was almost impressive. Hamilton wasn’t exactly one for secrets and subterfuge. 

“James Reynolds knew.”

_Nevermind._

“Her husband.” Burr rubbed a hand across his forehead. “Her husband knew, but you’re still here, not six feet under, killed in some duel. Jealous husbands tend to kill their wives’ illicit lovers in duels. That’s usually what happens.”

“You have a lot of experience as an illicit lover, Burr?”

“We’re not talking about me, Alexander, we’re deep in the hole you’re digging for yourself.”

For the second time in a matter of minutes, Hamilton looked ashamed. “Reynolds knew because he and Maria set me up. I’m paying him to keep this whole thing quiet.”

“They _played_ you?”

“I’ve been played.” Hamilton set his hat on one of Burr’s side tables and ran both of his hands through his hair. “Eliza can never find out.”

Burr thought briefly of Hamilton’s wife, the soft spoken Eliza Schuyler, gracious and quick with a smile. She’d be crushed by his infidelity, and there was no doubt in Burr’s mind that Hamilton would duly be crushed by her firebrand sister, Angelica. But that was none of his business.

“This is none of my business,” he said.

“I didn’t come here for advice, Aaron,” Hamilton said, all of a sudden sounding very tired, very sad, and very unlike him. “Just an ear. And maybe some of whatever you have over there.”

He gestured at the wine decanter on the table to Burr’s right, more than halfway full of dark liquid. Burr handed it and a glass over, and Hamilton poured and downed two in quick succession. 

“And we’re not _rivals_ ,” he said, pouring another glass. “We disagree. I don’t _hate_ you.”

“I hate you,” Burr said.

“Giving me your wine and letting me sit in your favorite chair is hardly the definition of hate, Aaron.”

“How do you know that’s my favorite chair?”

“Of course this is your favorite chair.”

Burr was pretty sure that Hamilton was on his fourth or fifth glass of wine. Every time he looked, the glass was full, and the decanter was slowly becoming the opposite. 

“Maybe you should take it easy,” he said, after watching Hamilton down glass five (or possibly six). The decanter slipped dangerously in his hand, and Burr was on his feet in an instant to grab it and deposit on a high shelf far away from the now unquestionable drunkenness of Alexander Hamilton. It would be just like him to come into Burr’s house, drink all of his wine, smash his glassware, and fall asleep on his favorite chair. _Wait_ \-- 

“No, no,” Burr grabbed Hamilton by the shoulders and forced him upright and onto his feet, keeping a firm hold on him because every time he tried to let go the other man teetered and threatened to fall right on top of Burr. That would be the exact sort of unpleasantness that Burr’s already vaguely unpleasant night didn’t need. “Alexander, go home.”

“Can’t go home,” he slurred. He must have had even more to drink than Burr noticed, maybe even before he’d knocked on Burr’s door. “She… She might be there.”

_She._ Maria? Eliza? Burr wasn’t sure who he meant, or which of the women he was avoiding more. Hamilton leaned closer, letting his head drop onto Burr’s shoulder, and Burr actually didn’t shake him off.

“All right, all right. You stay here tonight, you’re gone in the morning. This never happens again, you never speak of it to anyone.”

“Shit, Burr, you’re such a _lawyer_.”

Burr rolled his eyes. “So are you. Supposedly. Now come on.”

The apartment Burr rented along with his legal offices wasn’t very spacious, which meant that he didn’t have a guest room. He deposited the still-slurring Hamilton (he caught a few words; _meaningful_ and _Philip_ and _careless_ and one very vehement _motherfucker_ ) onto his bed, took one of his three pillows and two of his five blankets, and took one last look at Hamilton before blowing out the room’s few candles and heading back down the staircase.

•

He woke up the next morning in his favorite chair, his feet on his second favorite chair and his house empty. The only signs Hamilton had even been there were the blatantly unmade bed and the distinct lack of wine in his decanter.

•

They thought Hamilton had been stealing from the Treasury. Burr obviously knew the truth, but what kind of political rival would he be if he stuck up for his enemy?

Either way, Hamilton had just told all of them --himself, Jefferson, Madison-- everything. Maria, James, the whole scandal. All of it, out on the table. He really didn’t know how to keep a secret, but all three of them had promised to keep it for him.

Madison coughed, breaking Burr out of his thoughts.

“That was… Something.”

Jefferson smirked and glanced over at Burr. 

“We should expose him for this, right?”

Burr looked at the door, still swinging on its hinges from Hamilton’s exit not ten seconds prior. He wasn’t sure if Hamilton remembered anything about the other confession he’d made about this scandal; the rushed, reckless one that had felt meaningful and genuine, and nothing like this political power play. Either way, he had promised. _Jefferson_ had promised, but that obviously didn’t matter.

“No,” Burr replied, still looking at the door and not over at Jefferson and Madison, both of whom he could see out of his peripherals. They were leaning over the table, practically on top of each other, eager and ecstatic from the news they had just heard. Why did both political parties had to be filled with _assholes_?

“No?” Jefferson replied, leaning back. Burr finally met his gaze, it was hard and accusing. “Are you with us or against us, Aaron? This could finally destroy him.”

Burr crossed his arms. This was him, his sweet spot. Cold. Calculating.

“Believe me. I know Hamilton. We won’t need to do a thing.”

•

Months later, Burr picked up the sheaf of paper. Seconds prior, Jefferson had triumphantly dropped it onto his desk, not smirking but grinning, the smile splitting his face and lighting his eyes with manic fire.

“You were right, Burr. He destroyed himself, his entire _career_. There’s no way he’ll ever be president now.”

Burr glanced down at six damning words, no doubt in his mind what this all was about.

_“The Reynolds Pamphlet” by Alexander Hamilton._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are infinitely appreciated and you can always find me at fihli.tumblr.com!
> 
> -Gab


End file.
